He Was a Friend of Mine
by Soldier of Winter
Summary: The drums called to him. Forced him to do unspeakable acts. But this is before the drums...  Master!Simm/Doctor!Tennant; One-shot


_**A/N:**_

_**Title**: He Was a Friend of Mine_

_**Disclaimer**: All characters are copyright the BBC._

_**Warnings**: A possibly fatal amount of fluff.  
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_**Pairings**: Master!Simm/Doctor!Tennant  
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_**Rating**: PG13  
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_**Wordcount**: 874  
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_**Point** **of** **view**: 3rd omniscient _

_**Prompt**: The Master and Doctor's relationship is as old as time itself. Their animosity towards each other is well known throughout the cosmos. But what about that time long ago on Gallifrey? The time before the drums? _

_The time when they were friends?_

**_(Note: this is currently a one-shot, but may develop into more later on a.k.a. please review~)_**

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><p><strong>He could remember them.<strong>

Those brilliant fields of his youth. The golden grass swaying in the wind, doused in the shadow of the city looming above it. It is an empty, cold city now, but that is not how he remembers it. He only remembers the the hustle and bustle of the market, the chatter of voices reverberating off of the buildings, and million tongues spilling together to become one. That is his city; the one it _was_ not what it was now. This is his city, the one filled with life, love, and happiness.

**He could remember when he first met him.**

There, at one of the market stands, stood a boy; a blonde boy who was sharp and agile with cunning glint in his eyes. The boy noticed him through the crowd and flashed him a toothy smile. It wasn't a mean smile, it was a smile that said, "Hey you! Let's be friends!"

**And so they were.**

That smile there, that was only the beginning. They met in school one day, the blonde boy being the instigator;

**"Hey you were at the market one day, right?"**

Of course he was, but there were plenty of other children there on that day and plenty just milling around the city. He said nothing of this though because deep down he felt a tingle of happiness that this boy had singled him out as a friend.

**Friend.**

They grew together, molding each other into what they wanted to see in the world. They discussed and bickered and pulled through for each other. They were opposites and yet they were so alike; one cool, calm, collective and the other loud, bold, and dangerous. Despite these differences, he remembered that their friendship thrived.

**And then one day the drums arrived.**

The blonde boy had suffered from them all of his life. They tormented him; some days more than others, but they were always present. He remembered that he never asked what the source of the drums were. There were whispers though, stories of a cult and dark doings, but he had always dismissed them as the talk of gossips and old woman. It was a difficult time for his friend and he helped him through it, even though he barley understood what was happening.

**That's what friends are for.**

Even though the forces pushing them apart were strong, they remained stead-fast friends even as the drums became increasingly more and more frantic. They were a steady beat in the blonde boy's head, and on some days he would be driven to the edge; confined to bed and not allowed to move. He had bursts of sanity, times when his head was clean and clear. His mother was told, though, that these bursts would get increasingly further and further apart, becoming shorter and shorter, until he would be completely lost to the drums.

**He remembered his friend's last moment of sanity.**

He remembered that day because the suns shone at their brightest and when the moons came out it was such a chill. They had rushed off into the grass, the moonlight dancing and glinting off of their skin. Then they laid in those golden fields, their chests heaving, and stared up at the sky of their marvelous world.

**Silence.**

They marveled at it. The sheer beauty and mass of the universe sprawled out before them; all of space and time, theirs for the taking. They laid there for a long time in complete and utter wonderment. Then the blonde boy spoke, his words spilling out of his mouth and standing out in the cold air as puffs of steam,

**"You know, we all have to die someday. Maybe not today, maybe not the next, but someday it'll happen,"**

silence, then

**"I don't think I'd really mind if I died now."**

Those were the wisest words the blonde boy had ever spoken. He recalled those words now, those words spoken to him in a place now lost to time. He brought these words to his lips, but swallowed them down with his tears. He grasped his friend's, the blonde boy's, shoulders and he remembered. He remembered those sights and sounds of that place they left oh-so-long-ago. He heard a animalistic scream, desperate and coarse, and it was his scream. But to him it sounded like a simple whisper:

**_"Regenerate."_  
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